


Kitten

by B_eden



Category: Benjaminutes - Fandom, The Riftdale Chronicles (Web Series)
Genre: Begging, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Edging, Hostage Situation, Intense Orgasm, Intense Sex, Kitten, M/M, Manipulation, Master/Slave, Mentions of past abuse, Money Shot, Orgasm Denial, Threesome, Vulnerability, but no one is a furry, dirty - Freeform, drugged person, gets so dirty guys, hostage/kidnapper, no one is acutally acting like a kitten, only temporary orgasm denial, threesome later in story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-18 05:30:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18114257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_eden/pseuds/B_eden
Summary: Christian gets into a vulnerable situation and Bart and Clairvoyance have to look after him. Kind of dark Claire in this one. This wasn’t supposed to be a threesome when I started writing it, but Claire just kind of took over, the creepy bastard! I don’t know what happened! It’s Claire’s fault not mine! I had no control over him. Oh god this is so filthy. There’s something wrong with me. You like it, though! Don’t shame me!Or...the one where Bart is a hapless lonely virgin, Claire realizes he likes being master more than he expected, and Christian gets screwed thoroughly into submission until he’s a drooling, babbling mess.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna know more about me as a writer and a person, (please follow I get so lonely and insecure) you can follow my:
> 
> Blog: https://caspercrowblog.wordpress.com  
> Twitter: https://twitter.com/CrowCasper  
> Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/writercaspercrow

“Put your seatbelt on.” Christian growled as he floored the gas pedal and tightened his fingers on the steering wheel.

 

 

“Oh dear sweet mother of god!” Bart clutched the handle and sank down as the car skidded along another patch of ice in the cold, dark night.

 

 

The artist scrambled to secure his seatbelt as two cop cars behind them went flying over the ledge they’d just barely avoided careening over themselves. Bart gulped when Christian huffed in satisfaction after his eyes darted to the rear-view mirror to watch the flashing lights disappear from the world of the living.

 

 

“Buckle me in.” Christian sighed in agitation when he saw more lights behind them.

 

 

Bart gulped as the priest insinuated he was about to drive more recklessly, but he knew better than to hesitate when the serial killer told him to do something. He tugged his own belt loose enough to temporarily reach over the criminal. Christian took a curve rapidly, and Bart’s face mashed into the priest’s ribs as his hand slipped and clamped onto his thigh.

 

 

“Fuck!” Christian locked his jaw as he expertly righted the car. He cursed again when he saw that the patrol car behind them had managed to make it through the turn. “Hurry up, Bart.”

 

 

Bart was already clinking the belt in place and pulling against his own belt to rid it of the slack.

 

 

“You know what, motherfucker?” Christian aimed a deadly glare in the rear-view mirror. “We’ll fucking go over together, then.”

 

 

“W-wait, what? Christian? CHRISTIAN!” Bart covered his head when the car began to spin. Christian was still working the wheel as he did something fancy while looking around them with cocaine-fueled hyper focus. The artist felt his seatbelt cut into his hips as the car flipped or tilted dangerously. He wasn’t sure what happened next, because he fainted.

 

 

“Bart.” Christian choked as he shoved the artist’s shoulder. “Bart!” The artist gasped in a breath as the cruel awareness of reality returned to him. “We’ve gotta go. Get out.”

 

 

The car was upright, but the front of it was in flames. The patrol car was in front of them, upside-down, and whoever had been inside was long dead if the fire connecting the two vehicles was any indication. Bart reached down for his belt as Christian fell out of the driver seat and cursed into the night when he failed to stand properly at first.

 

 

Bart’s seatbelt was stuck.

 

 

“Christian!” Bart whined as he bashed at the seatbelt with his fist and looked up in terror at the flames biting at the windshield. “CHRISTIAN! THE SEATBELT IS STUCK!” When the door wrenched open, Bart was glad for the reminder that he wasn’t alone. He still jumped when the criminal’s aggressive eyes landed on him with irritation that he was causing him another problem.

 

 

Christian’s attention bristled and he looked away. Bart sucked in a breath as he listened with him. They could hear distant sirens. Bart’s heart hammered desperately when Christian leaned over him and violently jerked at the seatbelt. The artist whimpered when Christian turned away and opened the back door instead.

 

 

“C-Christian! Don’t leave me! Please! D-don’t leave me to burn!” Bart burst into tears when he heard Christian fumbling with the backpack of money that was the reason they were being pursued in the first place. He was going to take the money and leave him!

 

 

“Oh, god! C-Christian!” Bart could feel the heat of the flames even against the chill of the night as they crept around the edge of the open door. “Christian! Shoot the gun! Please! Make me faint! Don’t let me feel this!” His feet pressed against the floorboard in a futile attempt to move away from the threat.

 

 

“That would draw attention.” Christian grumbled calmly. “They don’t know where to look for me yet.”

 

 

Bart’s sobbing was interrupted when his seat suddenly laid all the way back. The artist sucked in his stomach as Christian loosened the belt. The priest hooked his arms under Bart’s and pulled him toward the back seat.

 

 

“Work with me here, sweetheart. Push up the belt. Untangle your clothes.”

 

 

 Christian only called him pet names in the height of some adrenaline driven scheme when Bart was starting to fall apart on him. Bart wasn’t sure if Christian was somehow insulting him by acting like he was an incompetent child, or if he was slipping up unaware that he was referring to him so. Whatever the case, the rare bait of affection worked to manipulate Bart’s lonely heart to focus and do whatever Christian was wanting him to do.

 

 

It only took a few seconds to free him, but Bart would be eternally grateful to the criminal for not leaving him to burn. It wouldn’t matter why Christian had saved him; whether he was attached to the artist, or if he simply needed to make sure he had a bullet shield until he knew he’d lost the cops.

 

 

Bart scrambled out of the car and backed away from it as if it had tried to eat him. He was entranced with the flames, and he yelped when Christian’s hand clamped onto his wrist to encourage him to follow him into the darkness.

 

 

“This way. Faster, Bart.”

 

 

They both stumbled after the trauma of the crash as Christian lead them across some train tracks. The criminal forced them to keep up the hurried pace until they reached a rundown trailer park that he seemed familiar with. When Christian knocked on a door, Bart braced himself to witness the cold-blooded murder of the occupants.

 

 

“Marge.” Christian leaned into the door. “It’s Christian. Open up.”

 

 

A toothless elderly woman opened the door. “Christian, you smelly bastard! Get in here, kid!” She hesitated when she saw Bart. “Who’s this?”

 

 

“Hostage.”

 

 

“Ah.” She laughed knowingly. “Then he won’t live long enough to rat out our lab.” She waved them in.

 

 

Bart hugged himself as Christian closed them inside and motioned for him to sit on a couch close to a toothless man who was playing solitaire around a stack of beer cans. He didn’t have to wonder where all their teeth had gone. Bart had never seen or smelled a meth lab before, but it was clear he was now in one.

 

 

“Want some of the goods?” Marge offered through smoke-damaged vocal chords.

 

 

“No.” Christian frowned. “Got any blow?”

 

 

“Not much left, but yeah. How much you got on you?” Marge eyed the backpack curiously, but Christian drew out his wallet as if there was nothing of interest in the bag.

 

 

Bart looked to one of the men near him when he moved suspiciously to turn off the television that was already muted. The artist didn’t think much of seeing news of the priest’s latest robbery filing across the screen. He assumed these people knew Christian was a criminal and that there was some kind of loyalty among thieves going on.

 

 

Bart’s eyes followed Christian’s every move as he tucked the cocaine into his pocket and moved around the trailer speaking with Marge about things and people Bart didn’t know of. The artist was always on edge waiting for Christian’s next impatient command. He didn’t want to irritate him. Christian had yet to hurt him, but Bart had seen the criminal hurt many other hostages before inevitably killing them. He wondered why Christian hadn’t struck him or dumped his lifeless body in some back alleyway. It made him feel special.

 

 

One of the men offered Bart some pizza, and the artist tried not to turn his nose up at the gesture as he looked around the unsanitary home before shaking his head in denial. Christian didn’t think twice about taking the food and cramming it in his mouth as Marge continued a complicated story. Bart’s eyes lingered on Christian’s jawline as the priest chewed, then he followed the motion of his throat as he swallowed.

 

 

Bart often caught himself appreciating the rather rugged aesthetics of the criminal. He tried to reason with himself not to fall so hard for his kidnapper. It’s not like Christian would ever feel the same for him. Christian seemed to hate him.

 

 

Bart only belatedly managed to tune in Marge’s voice. “Christian. That boy’s eyes don’t ever leave you. Looking at you like he wants your dick in his mouth.”

 

 

Christian didn’t spare him a glance as he hummed and took another bite. “Yeah. He does that.”

 

 

“What? Puts your dick in his mouth?” Marge laughed hard as Christian scowled. Bart sank down in his seat in humiliation.

 

 

The criminal spoke around his food. “No. Stares me down like he wants my dick in his mouth.” Christian’s chewing suddenly slowed as he blinked a little hazy. He started to lift the pizza back to his mouth. “Bart. You listening?” Bart nodded even though he was more than a little distracted with the heat in his face. “Come to me now. Now!”

 

 

Bart didn’t hesitate. He tripped to the floor as one of the men grabbed for him. The artist kicked him in the face and scrambled to his knees to cling to Christian’s waist as the priest drew his gun.

 

 

“Back off!” Christian waved the gun around. “Up, Bart. Come on.” Christian blinked his eyes again and rattled his head.

 

 

“Christian...” Marge opened her arms in an inviting gesture. “Just give us the bag and you can sleep it off. I’ll give you some more coke when you wake up. Everything will be-”

 

 

“I will shoot you in the goddamn face and feel nothing, Marge!” Christian pushed Bart along as he backed toward the door. “Keys. Give me the fucking keys to that car out there or so help me fucking god I will kill all of you!” Christian caught the car keys as a man tossed them over, and then he glanced over his shoulder as Bart opened the door for them. “They drugged me, Bart. If I pass out, you get this fucking gun on them. They’ll kill us both.”

 

 

“No, we won’t, kid. We’ll just kill him.” Marge comforted. “You’re not gonna make it far, Christian. Gonna wreck that car and the cops are gonna getcha. You might as well stay here with us.”

 

 

“Fuck you!”

 

 

“What are you gonna do?” Marge huffed. “Have your hostage drive you to the police station while you’re roofied?” She winked to Bart, but it was to threaten Christian into compliance.

 

 

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Christian growled in desperation before deciding to continue his escape attempt. “Go, Bart.” Bart tugged Christian’s arm to lead him out the door and down the steps while he kept his gun on the door.

 

 

“In the car.” Christian swayed dangerously before he climbed into the passenger seat. Bart blinked in confusion. “Drive, Bart! Come on!” Christian crammed the keys in the ignition and tried to focus on the trailer as Bart sank behind the wheel. “Go, Bart.” Christian rubbed his palms over his eyes as he failed to realize Bart was already driving. “They’ll kill you. They’ll fuck me while I’m out, and let other people fuck me. Over and over...” Christian shuddered in relief when he realized the car had taken them away from the trailer park.

 

 

“Where do you want me to go? Christian?” Bart was highly concerned. Christian had never let him drive before.

 

 

“Fffuck...” Christian sank down in his seat. His voice was becoming more distant. “Bart.” The gun fell to the floorboard as Christian’s head lolled to the side. Christian jerked as he fought for awareness, and his hand clenched onto Bart’s thigh. “Bart. I’m sorry. Bart.” He looked at the artist with a panicked and helpless expression. Then his chin hit his chest before rolling to his shoulder again. “Don’t. Cops. Please. Stay. Don’t...” His mumbling tapered off.

 

 

“Christian?” Bart whined when the criminal didn’t answer him. He drove around for a little while before he pulled over to dig his cell phone out of Christian’s pocket. He didn’t have many numbers programed there. Bart dialed Clairvoyance.

 

 

Twenty minutes later, as the sun rose, Claire was hoisting Christian’s arm over his shoulder and pulling him to stand. “Are you sure you want to take a serial killer who is currently kidnapping you into your house, Bart?”

 

 

Christian groaned as his legs wobbled, but he mechanically went where he was guided as he leaned heavily against the conspiracy theorist. His voice was distant as he mumbled feverishly. “Th-thank you for your service, officer...”

 

 

Bart tossed the backpack over his shoulder and ducked under Christian’s other arm. “I don’t know what else to do with him.” He unlocked his front door, dropped the bag just inside the door, and then allowed Claire to take over. “Just take him to my bed, I guess. I’m going to pull this car into the garage and close it up so no one will see it.”

 

 

Claire grunted when Christian’s weight fell more heavily against him in the living room. The priest straightened a second later. His eyes opened groggily to look around the unfamiliar room. He looked to Claire but didn’t really seem to see him before his weight fell back against him heavily.

 

 

“Did...Marge...sell me to you?” Christian sucked in a deep breath as they stumbled through the bedroom doorway.

 

 

“No, Christian. It’s me. Claire. You remember Claire? Clairvoyance?”

 

 

It was clear the priest wasn’t processing his words. “Buy. Buy my hostage.” He swallowed heavily as the desperation rose in his voice. He clutched onto Claire’s shirt. “Don’t leave him with them. Buy my hostage.”

 

 

“Um...” Claire sat him down on the bed, but Christian scrambled lethargically to cling to his waist. “Christian?”

 

 

“My hostage!” Christian’s fingers went to the fastenings of Claire’s pants. “Get my hostage. Please, master. I’ll be such a good fucking kitten for you. Your sweet little fucking kitten. I’ll suck you off so good, master.” He rubbed his face against Claire’s chest like a cat.

 

 

“Wow! H-h-holy shit!” Claire gathered Christian’s wrists to stop him from working his clothes open. “Christian! It’s Claire!” Christian lifted to his knees and fell against him. His mouth went right to Claire’s neck. “Oh, boy! Okay! Christian!” Claire looked helplessly toward the doorway where Bart was now arching a brow at him in question.

 

 

“My hostage, master, please. Fuck you so nice...”

 

 

“Fuck! What do I do?” Claire moved to push his body away, but then Christian’s hands returned to his pants, so Claire collected the searching limbs again. The criminal’s mouth returned to his neck.

 

 

“Suck you so good...”

 

 

“Okay! You-you already did! Kitten...” Claire whimpered as he looked back to Bart. The artist looked stuck somewhere between amusement and horror. “You did! And master is so satisfied! And...master got you a present, kitten! For being so good for me. Come over here, Bart. See? You were so good, I got your hostage. T-talk to him, Bart. Let him hear your voice.”  

 

 

“I’m here, Christian.” Bart rested his hands on Christian’s shoulders as the criminal sat back on his heels on the bed. He was frowning deeply as he tried desperately to focus on his surroundings. “Christian. I’m okay.”

 

 

Christian didn’t seem to believe him at first, but then his eyes flashed with a moment of awareness as he recognized the artist. Bart gasped when Christian’s hands flew out to wrap around him. He pulled him down onto the bed and burrowed his face in Bart’s chest as he clung to him.

 

 

“I’m sorry I killed you. Bart. I’m sorry you’re dead!” Christian began to sob pitifully.

 

 

“C-Christian. I’m not dead, love. I’m right here.” He stroked Christian’s head and back as he returned the embrace. Bart panicked when the conspiracy theorist moved toward the door. “Claire please don’t leave! I don’t know what to do!”

 

 

Christian tightened his hold and cried harder. “I’m sorry I didn’t fuck you, Bart.”

 

 

“Um. Th-that’s okay, Christian.” Bart whimpered when Christian pressed their lips together. His eyes widened when Christian thrust his hips forward and dropped a hand to Bart’s backside to pull him against him. Bart opened his mouth to ask Claire for advice, but this only allowed Christian’s tongue to dip past his lips. Bart mewled in confusion as he immediately responded to the attention.

 

 

“Fuck!” Claire’s tin foil hat crunched when he clasped his head in frustration as he tried to decide how to handle the situation.

 

 

Christian pulled away from his lips as he grunted at the friction when Bart’s hips instinctively moved against him. His hand moved to Bart’s pants.

 

 

“Claire! What do I do?” Bart batted fruitlessly at Christian’s insistent hands. “Claire, I’ve never been with anyone! I’m scared! Claire, what do I do?” He hiccuped in distress when Christian pushed his pants open and reached for his own zipper. One arm stayed clamped to the artist’s body to keep him from squirming away. “Claaaaire! He’s too strong!”

 

 

“Okay! Uh...okay!” Claire leapt onto the bed and weaved his arms around Christian’s chest to pull him back. “Fuck!” Christian was pulling Bart with him. Claire pushed against Bart’s chest to try and pry them apart as the artist’s fingers pressed weakly against the serial killer. “W-what does he do all day to be this strong while he’s fucking roofied? Doesn’t that make people pliant?”

 

 

Bart tried to suggest cocaine, but his voice was muffled with Christian’s tongue back in his mouth. The artist’s head was spinning as his crush kissed him so desperately. He moaned as Christian’s hand clamped onto his hip, and the sound encouraged the criminal. The moan turned into a fearful cry when Christian began to push down his pants. Bart’s hand clasped helplessly onto Christian’s wrist, but it did nothing to slow him down.

 

 

Christian’s movements stilled, then, and his mouth fell open wide against Bart’s as he groaned in satisfaction. Bart gaped at the criminal’s wanton features as Christian’s head fell back and his hands moved up to tangle in Bart’s shirt. The artist looked down as he felt movement between them. Claire’s hand was down Christian’s pants stroking him. It had worked to pacify the criminal and rescue Bart, but Claire was still at a loss to explain himself when Bart looked up to him in question.

 

 

Claire gulped as he continued to move his hand while Christian writhed back against him. “I...um...don’t think this is the socially acceptable answer to this. I’m not s-sure what else to do.” His eyes shifted around the room insecurely before landing back on Bart. He relaxed a little as the artist gave him an almost worshipful expression. He was grateful for Claire saving him rather than being disgusted with his method, and Claire sighed in relief. Bart shivered when Christian’s fists relaxed and began to distractedly work their way back down his body.

 

 

“N-no!” Claire tucked an arm under the criminal and snaked his hand up to squeeze his throat. He tilted Christian’s head back to whisper in his ear, though his voice didn’t sound nearly as confident as his words. “No, kitten. Focus on me. Focus on this. Kitten. Come for me.”

 

 

Bart made a strangled noise as Claire suddenly seemed a little too capable of manipulating their current situation, but he relaxed when Claire threw him a humble look and shrugged helplessly. Christian panted as his hands slid gently up to Bart’s shoulders for support. His eyes opened, and for a heartbeat he seemed to see him again.

 

 

“D-don’t fuck my hostage...” Christian tensed as he framed Bart’s face in his hands.

 

 

“I won’t, kitten. He’s yours. I got him for you because you’re so good. Now keep being good, and just relax. Relax. Come for me.”

 

 

Claire’s breath stuttered when Christian pushed back against him. Bart’s eyes studied him with fascination as it became clear Claire was being affected erotically by the situation.

 

 

“F-fuck, this is getting out of hand. I don’t know what to do if he starts trying to...to...Bart? Do you have rope or something to tie him up with, maybe?” Claire gasped when Christian suddenly called out and climaxed in his hand. The criminal went limp as he passed out. “Or...or maybe that worked well enough. Okay.”

 

 

Claire and Bart were both shaking as they found something to clean Claire’s hand and righted Christian and Bart’s clothing. They stood next to the bed and stared down at the serial killer as Christian’s steady breaths comforted them that he was out for a time.

 

 

Bart appeared shell shocked as he feathered his fingers against his lips remembering being kissed so passionately. “Um. Th-thank you, Claire.”

 

 

“Don’t mention it.” Claire huffed humorously. “In fact, maybe we really, just, don’t talk about that?” Claire looked to Bart, and the artist blinked blankly before he nodded. A small smile tugged at Bart’s mouth, and then they both began to laugh.

 

 

 “Okay.” Claire took a deep breath to steady himself as he looked down at his still trembling hands. “We need to look up how long roofies last. I’m guessing that’s what this is. I mean, it seems like his inhibitions are gone rather than him being drugged horny. He’s not sure where he’s at and who he’s with, so he’s acting on instinct to get himself, and you, out of danger. God, what the fuck has he been through to default to that shit?”

 

 

Bart hummed as he realized that Christian had indeed been trying to keep him safe too in his drug addled, unguarded haze. Maybe they really were friends like Bart so desperately wanted to believe. Maybe it hadn’t been completely stupid to show his kidnapper where he lived instead of trying to turn him in or simply escape him. It’s not like it would be hard to find Bart, though, so the artist didn’t really think it was that big of a deal to take him into his home. If he had left Christian, and the criminal wanted to kill him, it would be easy to achieve.

 

 

“I don’t know how much coke he does or how often. Let’s just watch him for signs of withdrawal. It’s probably not a good idea to give him more until it seems he truly needs it since he’s got no telling how much of that other shit in his system. Let’s roll him onto his side and prop him there in case he throws up in his sleep, so he doesn’t choke on it.”


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t more than twenty minutes before the two men were scrambling back into Bart’s room when Christian stood up screaming. Bart clasped the criminal’s face to try and get him to look at him after Claire tackled him back onto the bed. Christian gasped for air, but his mood softened as he rattled his head and wrapped his arms around the artist. Bart huffed as he was pulled to lie on the bed. 

“There, Christian. Everything’s alright. You’re safe. We’re safe. Claire and I have got you.” Bart scooted closer as Claire did the same behind the criminal. Their limbs tangled together as Christian sighed in relief, though the noise sounded more than a little skeptical.

They drifted to sleep that way, waking only when Christian suddenly sat up again. The criminal stared, unseeing, down at the two startled bodies that had been holding him, and then he proceeded to throw up on them all.

“Jesus!” Claire caught the criminal as he collapsed forward into the whole mess. “No, no, no! Oh, god!”

Bart had yet to stop a long stream of high-pitched whining. Claire cursed again when the artist vomited as well. 

“Nice. Oh, nice. Okay.” Claire worked his way to stand up. “Christian. Wake up. Come on. Stand up. Fuck.” Christian slapped at him, so Claire cleared his throat and dropped his voice a little deeper. “Hey. Kitten. Come on. Don’t make master angry.” Christian stiffened before he mechanically did what he was told. 

Bart whimpered as he paled and fought not to vomit again. “W-we can’t just manipulate him like that. It’s so wrong.”

“You want me to let him lay there in puke? What else can we do?”

“I...I supposed you are right.” Bart groaned as he looked down at himself.

Claire chuckled encouragingly. “Hey. We’ve got this. Can you find us all some clothes and towels, yank these sheets off before it soaks through, and meet us in the bathroom?” Bart was a little green as he nodded and moved to take up the sheets. “And we probably should have made sure he ate something. I bet he doesn’t eat enough strung out on cocaine, and an empty stomach isn’t good on most drugs. Grab a soda and some crackers or something. Something bland.”

Bart gathered the things Claire had asked for, and though he knew in the back of his mind what was coming next, he still froze when he entered his bathroom to find Claire naked as he lowered Christian to sit on the closed-toilette so he could work his pants off his ankles.

“I’m going to need help in there, so take off your clothes.” Claire sighed and shyly avoided Bart’s eyes as he took the crackers and opened the soda. “Here. Christian. Pay attention, kitten. There you go. Don’t forget to chew it,” he reminded when Christian simply held the food in his mouth. “Six more. Just six more, okay? That’s a good boy. Drink this-sloooow...” He pulled back the can when Christian started to choke.

“You’re pretty good at all that.” Bart still hadn’t removed his underwear. He was going to wait until the last minute possible. He did, however, quickly brush his teeth in the sink before clawing open a new package of toothbrushes to get one for Christian. “I’m almost out of toothpaste.”

Claire frowned in thought. “It...it feels like I’ve done it a lot; worked with people in a vulnerable state of mind. I can’t quite remember when, though. It’s...strange.”

“Claire?” Christian blinked in confusion as he grabbed Claire’s wrist. 

“Yes! That’s it! I’m Claire! You recognize me? Christian?”

“You smell worse than I do.” The criminal’s eyes shifted to Bart, and then down his body, and back up to his eyes. He shook his head before almost collapsing forward as he sank back into a stupor.

Claire turned on the spray of water and moved to help Christian step in. “I’ll hold him steady, so he doesn’t fall, you rinse us all off.” He was glad to find the shower head could come off so that they wouldn’t have to shift positions around in the slippery tub.

“W-what if he...um...gets passionate again?” Bart was grateful that Claire suddenly found the ceiling interesting when he peeled off his underwear and stepped in front of them as Claire supported Christian from behind him.

“Well, I guess we’ll just do the thing again, then.” 

“Christian.” Bart mumbled as he aimed the nozzle at the criminal. “This is an intervention. I’m sorry to say this, love, but this shower has been a long time coming.” He smiled as he reached for the soap when Claire laughed. He tried to keep a professional air as he quickly and efficiently swiped the washcloth across Christian’s body. 

Christian groaned and his head fell back against Claire. Bart’s hands froze and he swallowed heavily. He moved to clean his face in the hopes it would take focus away from the touches against his body. 

“He’s got a black eye. I thought it was all dirt. Aaand that’s a bruise, too.” Bart studied his wounds with pity before running the water to wash the soap away. He slapped the cloth onto his shoulder and grabbed for the toothbrush. He pinched Christian’s cheeks but whimpered when Christian opened his eyes instead of his mouth.

“Bart?”

“Brush your teeth, Christian.” Bart suggested this, but Christian only stared at Bart’s mouth before his eyes rolled back as he lost awareness again. “I’m afraid to try again,” Bart admitted.

“Open your mouth for me, kitten. Wider. There you go. Good boy.”

“Holy shit.” Bart quickly scrubbed the brush around his teeth and then across his tongue when Christian stuck it out. “Claire, it’s more than a little disturbing when you do that.”

“I don’t mean to scare you.” Claire glanced around insecurely. “Will you still be my friend after this?”

“Of course, I will, Claire. You’re helping me, after all. You came to my rescue. I just could never imagine speaking to him like that. He terrifies me. It’s your turn to wash off.” Bart soaped the cloth again as Claire shifted Christian to lean against the wall. 

The criminal began to slide down when Claire’s hands left him, and he scrambled to press him back up. “Um. Why don’t you just rinse me?”

“You had vomit on you. Here.” Bart jerked his hand back when Claire yelped at his touch.

“Sorry.” Claire cleared his throat. “Go ahead.” 

Claire leaned his body closer to Christian when the priest began to slide down again. Christian’s eyes were open, and he was watching Bart’s hand as it moved stiffly across Claire’s left arm and the front of his body where the artist had seen most of the mess on Claire’s clothes before.

Christian’s frown deepened as he tried to make sense of his surroundings again. “Claire?” He looked down, and both other men automatically looked up as if that would cancel out the taboo or at least trigger Christian to do the same. It didn’t work. Claire gasped loudly, and when Bart looked to his face, his eyes were drawn further down because Claire was now looking down with his mouth squared in horror.

“Oh!” Bart choked. “Oh, my! Claire? W-what do you want me to do?”

“Hah! Um. W-what. I. Bart. I d-don’t know-” Claire tried to reach down to guide Christian’s hand off his cock, but then Christian started to slide down again. It really didn’t seem like a good idea to let the confused man find himself at eye level with either of their pricks. “Oh, god...” 

Claire lost himself in the sensation for several moments as he pressed Christian to the wall and tried to focus to breath. He might have had a better chance of gaining control and thinking clearly if he hadn’t already been struggling to keep his mind on track while Bart was touching him. He was almost ready to try another tactic when he felt warm, soapy water showering over his cock and slicking up Christian’s hand maddeningly well. 

“Oh god fuck! F-fuck...” Claire’s mouth dropped open and his eyes rolled back. He wrenched his eyes open to look at Bart accusingly, but Bart only arched a brow and gave the washcloth another squeeze to shower over Christian’s busy hand. 

Claire whined helplessly as he felt his release threatening to overtake him. His mind was too far gone now to reason with why he should try to fight it since Bart didn’t seem to be judging him over it. His hands pressed Christian harder against the wall as his forehead dropped onto Christian’s shoulder. “Oh, god. Don’t stop, kitten. Don’t stop. Like that...”

“Claire...” Christian blinked groggy as he continued to pump his fist along his length.

Claire laughed ironically. “C-Christian. If you know it’s me, w-why are you-” Claire let his guard down when he looked to Bart as the artist chuckled and washed himself in their distraction. Bart was trying to give them a moment of privacy, but it was achingly hard not to watch them. Christian’s hand clasped onto Claire’s hip, and he yanked him forward. 

Bart looked back to them with lust-clouded eyes. His attention dropped to where Christian was lining them up to stroke them both. The artist had plenty more soap back on the cloth, so he wrang it over them again. Bart bit his lip when both men moaned. Claire was eternally grateful that Bart had thought to brush Christian’s teeth when the criminal forced their mouths together.

“Good lord that’s fucking hot.” Bart whined as he tilted his head.

“Y-yeah?” Claire couldn’t pull away from Christian’s lips for long as the priest continued to seek out his lips when he turned to look at Bart. It seemed cruel to deny him the intimacy when he was so desperate for the contact. Claire whined into the kiss as the pleasing friction continued steadily. Christian finally let him breath when his head fell back against the wall in abandon. Claire’s lips pressed against his exposed throat before he could stop himself, and he cursed when Christian made the most beautiful noise in response.

“Oh god I’m going to come...” Claire whispered it as if he was more ashamed at himself for it than alerting the others. It caused Christian to speed up his hand in encouragement, and Claire was sure he heard Bart groan at the confession. 

Claire’s vision blurred, and he almost lost his hold on Christian as his legs threatened to give out. He came a little too hard not to hate himself for it as his vulnerable friend jerked him off. His vulnerable friend who was depending on him right now, and who may or may not know who he is at the moment, and who might think he was some kind of mob boss or something who had purchased him as a sex slave. His defenseless friend who probably thought he was saving the life of his only other friend with his actions.

“Oh, god.” Claire gasped for breath as he felt Christian tense up as he came shortly after him. “Fffuck, Christian. I’m so fucking sorry. Oh god I’m such a fucking bastard.” He jolted when he felt water raining down between their bodies. He looked to Bart, who was looking more than a little hot and bothered as he angled the spray to shower them clean.

“It’s n-not your fault, Claire. We’re in a complicated situation.” Bart returned the shower nozzle to its place. “I think we’re done in here. Right?”

“Uh. Yeah.” Claire felt somehow guilty about Bart’s ignored arousal, but it seemed awkward to offer to do anything about it for his friend, and unachievable given he was still supporting a zombie. 

They worked together to get them all dried and dressed. Claire immediately returned the tin foil to his head even before dressing. 

“We having a pajama party, then?” Claire buttoned the long sleeve flannel shirt on the matching outfit they’d put Christian into before he moved to secure his own shirt closed. He smiled when Bart stammered about how it had been the safest bet that the baggy clothing would fit them all and how it was easiest to reach quickly. “No, it’s good. These are comfortable. We all seem to be kind of the same size. Imagine that. It’s...almost...strange.” He looked off for several seconds as if his clever mind was throwing together a creative conspiracy theory.

“I’ll put some fresh sheets on the bed. Hopefully these stay clean at least long enough for the others to wash and dry. I only have two sets.”

Bart allowed Claire to tuck Christian in and dig for another blanket as he gathered their clothes to go in the machine. He washed his hands and plopped onto the couch to catch his breath and think on everything that had happened.

“Okay.” Claire strolled into the living room with a suspicious air of purpose. “He’ll be down for a bit. I bet he’ll start to come around within the next four hours. I’ll wait until closer to then before I go try to score some cocaine for when he wakes up. He’s got a little bit left. We’ll give him that if he wakes up before then.” 

Bart blinked rapidly when Claire straddled him. “C-Claire?” He gasped and clutched onto Claire’s shirt when he pressed their mouths together. Claire kissed him thoroughly until Bart’s confusion melted into desperation for the unfamiliar affection directed at him to continue.

“It’s your turn now.” Claire was still fairly satiated, but Bart’s pitiful searching expression aimed at him through heavy-lidded eyes was still breathtaking to witness.

“M-my t-turn?” Bart mewled when Claire rolled his hips down against him. He bucked up against him, and Claire shifted to slowly slide down his body.

“I don’t know how good I’ll be at this, so humor me.”

“G-g-good at w-what now?” Bart’s mouth fell open when Claire landed on his knees and he immediately tugged down the artist’s pants. “Y-you don’t have to feel like you need to-”

“What kind of friend would I be to leave you like this when me and Christian have both gotten off today?” Claire’s fingers wrapped around his length, and the artist began to make the most adorable keening noises as he moved his hand against him.

“F-friends...I don’t know if friends...do this kind of thing...with each other.” Bart swallowed heavily as his fingernails raked against the couch at his sides. 

“Sure they do. I have a caller who I see on the public town monitors I hacked into kissing and grinding with her friend all the time.”

Bart thought about pointing out some safe assumptions to the man who seemed to catch on to an insane amount of subtle details to form a conspiracy theory while completely missing the obvious in the world around him in the same instance, but he decided he didn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize the way Claire was leaning his mouth in towards his cock.

“Oh god, Claire...” Bart’s head fell back as he took him into his mouth. It didn’t matter if Claire had much experience. Bart had never been touched and his heart had been aching for physical contact for as long as he could remember. The artist had once been afraid it might never happen, but after meeting Christian, his anxiety had shifted to fretting that the physical contact he received in his life would be forced and terrifying.

Claire was being gentle and attentive with him as he watched Bart’s every reaction with his eerie power of observance. The warmth left the artist, but he couldn’t think straight to tune in what Claire was saying as the conspiracy theorist continued to stroke him with his hands while his mouth moved against his skin as he spoke. It took Bart far too much effort to realize Claire was rambling on in excitement about some series of events he was piecing together.

Bart looked down to politely pay attention to him which was a mistake if he was trying to pace himself. Claire was looking to the ceiling in thought as he continued on, and his lips grazed him continuously as he lazily squeezed his hand to keep up the stimulation. He stopped talking for a few seconds when he came to the end of the last thought, and when he did, he distractedly took Bart back into his mouth. 

“C-Claire...” The artist whimpered in warning as watching himself disappear past his lips caused an overwhelming ripple of euphoria to shake up his spine and pool in his chest. 

Claire didn’t seem to notice. He made a gentle popping noise as he pulled his mouth off him. “But I think that when the pineapple juice mixes with the combination of what’s in pizza...” 

Bart nodded weakly, and then he choked when Claire’s mouth bobbed onto him again briefly. Claire’s eyes shifted back and forth like he was reading a list of ingredients in his mind rather than taking note of how hard Bart’s cock was throbbing with the attention. He mushed his cheek against him and hummed in thought. 

Bart sank down lower when Claire started to lap along his cock in the middle of each sentence. “Claire...”

“That’s when it creates the perfect-”

“I c-can’t-”

“-Nutritional supplement that lizard people-”

“Claire I’m going to-”

“-Need in their diet.”

“Oh god fuck-” Bart tangled his hand in Claire’s shirt sleeve in a last-ditch effort to let him know how he was affecting him. 

Claire focused back to Bart’s face. His eyes widened to find he really liked just how beautifully ravished the artist had become to his distracted ministrations. Claire dragged his tongue up his cock with the intention of drawing out another addictive little moan from him. It worked, but all too well. Bart’s hand tightened its grip on his shirt and his mouth fell open as he squeaked Claire’s name one last time. Claire gasped as the artist shot off against his top lip, up the side of his face, and across his glasses.

Claire froze in shock, but his hand unconsciously squeezed another few times causing a shudder to wave up Bart’s stomach and stutter out through his lungs. The artist’s expression was torn between embarrassment and satisfaction as an intrigued smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth at the sight of the mess he’d made on the man kneeling in front of him.

“I’m...s-sorry...” Bart droned as his hand kneaded Claire’s arm insecurely. He looked away as shame warmed across his cheeks.

Claire snorted and rested his face on his hand on the clean side. “It happened, so you might as well memorize the money shot to use for wank fuel later.”

“M-money shot?”

Claire pointed to his face in explanation. Bart sank a little lower as he dared to look back to him since Claire was giving him permission to do so. Claire playfully stuck his tongue against his cock and opened his mouth wide as if he’d learned the image from his favorite porn. Bart’s lids lowered as he groaned at the image.

Claire smiled, flattered. “Does it really look that good?”

Bart nodded mechanically as his eyes followed the mess finally dripping off his glasses. Claire felt it going and scrambled to hold his hands under his face to catch it and prevent it from getting on either of their clothes.

Claire laughed. “Holy shit. You been holding that for a while, huh?” Claire was so inviting, accepting, and friendly. He always seemed to have everything under control, even when a situation felt unsolvable at first glance, or apparently even when he had come all over his face. Bart nodded again as he tried and failed to force a hum of affirmation through his dry throat.

They both looked toward the hallway as Christian whimpered loud enough for them to hear. Bart pulled his pants into place as Claire headed for the bathroom to clean himself. 

“Guess we should see what kitten needs now.” Claire’s voice traveled from the bathroom just behind him as the artist peeked into his bedroom. 

Christian was sleeping heavily, so Bart chanced to go closer to him without Claire there to hold his hand. The criminal didn’t look much less intimidating even in his vulnerable sleep while wearing Bart’s cozy flannel pajamas. Bart’s heart twinged. Soon Christian would wake up and be himself again. He wouldn’t be constantly asking over Bart’s whereabouts like he was willing to do anything to buy his safety. He wouldn’t be trying to grapple Bart into a bear hug when he recognized him like he was afraid to lose sight of him again. 

The serial killer would return to scowling at him and baring his teeth when he noticed Bart looking at him, or even sometimes when he wasn’t looking at him first. He’d go back to threatening him and bruising his arm when he gripped him too hard while guiding him where he wanted him more quickly than Bart could move to do what he demanded. He’d use that clipped, threatening tone that would often raise to a warning pitch that Bart would barely manage to placate before god knows what would happen to the artist. 

Bart would still insist they were friends, and Christian would scoff at him, and sometimes agree sarcastically and other times point his gun at his forehead. The artist jumped when Claire spoke from beside him.

“What do you think he’s dreaming about? Nightmares or swimming through sweet fields of cocaine and money?”

“No, officer...” Christian groaned and clenched his fists in the sheets. “Thank you...service...”

“I really don’t know.” Bart shook his head. “I think he has some kind of phobia of one or both of those cops we met when that cat tried to trap us in a sitcom. He seems to beg them in his sleep often.” Maybe someday Bart would get brave enough to ask him about it; if Christian let him live that long. “Should we stay with him?”

“I guess so. He should be returning to some semblance of awareness within the next few hours, tops. Otherwise they gave him enough to overdose him and we’re lucky he didn’t die on us already. I’ll get a bucket in case he acts like he’s going to hurl again. What movies do you have?” He motioned toward the little old television on Bart’s dresser that looked like it only took VHS tapes.


	3. Chapter 3

It was well after dark when Christian awoke to the gentle sound of Bart’s laughter from somewhere just over his shoulder. He didn’t open his eyes as he tried to decide who the fuck’s chest he was lying on as the lungs vibrated beneath him in an answering chuckle. The priest was pretty sure he could hear the movie Boondock Saints playing from near what he now could assume was the foot of the bed he was tucked into between two men. He forced his breathing steady to take in his surroundings as Bart spoke to the man beneath Christian as if he felt comfortable and safe with him. That clashed with what Christian knew of Bart and with what kind of situation the criminal had expected to wake to.

 

 

“Oh, no! I hate the part with the cat!” Bart whispered, and Christian felt the bed move. He knew the artist’s tone and body language enough to know that Bart was turning away from something he didn’t want to see and probably clamping his hands over his eyes.

 

 

The man beneath Christian snorted and crammed what smelled and sounded to be popcorn in his mouth. “But you were fine with the part where they ironed each other’s flesh to cauterize the wounds?”

 

 

“They weren’t really doing that.”

 

 

“And I can assure you that didn’t really happen to the cat! Or...did it?” The man proceeded to rattle off a hasty conspiracy. It was Clairvoyance. Christian was sure of it now. Why was Christian fucking cuddling with Clairvoyance?

 

 

Christian violently pushed himself to sit up and he whirled to face the two startled men. Christian huffed when Claire shoved a bucket into his hands and Bart moved to rub his back affectionately. The criminal stared down at the bucket as he tried to make sense of the fact that he was having a matching pajama party movie night. It was clearly a dream. It’s not like it was the strangest dream he’d had lately.

 

 

The priest distantly wondered where he was, but he couldn’t see much in the darkness. It didn’t really matter.

 

 

“Christian?” Bart’s gentle hand continued to stroke along his back, and it felt far too good. “Do...do you recognize us?” He traced his fingers lovingly against Christian’s hairline. “He’s sweating a lot and shaking. Is it withdrawal?”

 

 

Christian cursed the dream gods for making him want for drugs in the middle of such a comforting dream of caring friends, but then his brows rose impressed when Claire passed him a cutting board with cocaine lined up ready for him. This dream just got a whole lot better. He shoved the bucket to the side and immediately leaned in.

 

 

“Yeah. That’s what it was.” Claire held the board steady. “Easy, kitten.”

 

 

Christian jolted at the term at the same time he began to twitch and gasp to inhaling his fix. He blinked rapidly as he took another look at Claire for talking to him that way. The conspiracy theorist only raised his eyebrows and hummed as if to ask what Christian wanted from him. Yep. This was most definitely a dream.

 

 

Bart leaned back onto his pillow. “Shouldn’t he be more...here...by now?”

 

 

The artist was watching him more nervously now, and Christian didn’t like it. He wanted him to go back to the relaxed demeanor where he moved towards him instead of shrinking away. This was his dream, goddammit!

 

 

Christian sucked in a deep breath, and he was overwhelmed with Bart’s scent. It was all around him. It had been on the bed, and all over Claire, and in the air around him. The priest looked down. He was in pajamas like theirs. He lifted the shirt to his nose. That smelled like Bart too. Christian smelled like him.

 

 

Bart glanced to Claire for emotional support when Christian continued to stare him down for too long while repeatedly huffing his shirt.

 

 

“Christian?” Claire tested. “Kitten?” He chuckled when the criminal shifted a dark scowl in his direction. “Dude, are you thinking about shooting me?” His observant eyes were taking in the way Christian’s trigger-finger was pulsing rapidly. “That’s not very nice, kitten.”

 

 

Christian shook his head in denial to be polite to his dream friends. Dream friends probably didn’t want you to shoot them, and Christian didn’t want them to stop being so kind to him.

 

 

“Claire!” Bart hissed. “You should stop that! I think he’s all there. For the love of god, don’t piss him off.” They both watched him as he continued to stare at them; Bart, with an aura of terror, and Claire with simple curiosity.

 

 

Bart worried his hands. “Christian? Love, do you need anything?” Bart cringed when Christian suddenly dove towards him. The artist stiffened with a whimper as the criminal draped across him, hugging him tightly and nuzzling his face into his chest. “Oh!” Bart trembled even as he realized there was no pain. “Oh...okay.” He gulped as Christian snuggled closer, but he automatically began to warm his hands on the criminal’s back and arm to encourage the contact.

 

 

“Is...is he...”

 

 

“I think he’s just...just...hugging me?” Bart guessed as everything remained still and quiet other than the television. “Actually, I think he’s asleep again.”

 

 

“Who snorts cocaine and goes to sleep?”

 

 

The artist relaxed against the pillows more fully and sighed in relief. Claire handed him the popcorn, and Bart ate a handful like he was popping a whole bottle of pills to cope with his anxiety. Claire’s laugh buzzed low as they focused back to the television.

 

 

Christian awoke the next morning alone in a strange bed. He groaned and clutched his head as he pushed to sit up. “What the fuck?” He squinted against the golden sunrise reflecting off the light walls around him, and he tossed the covers from his body. There were no chains. He was in fucking adorable pajamas.

 

 

_Holy fuck_. Marge had sold him to some douchebag who wanted to get off on fucking a serial killer. Motherfucker had forgotten to dose him again, though, and now Christian was awake. How long had he been out? His muscles didn’t feel atrophied or anything. He actually didn’t hurt anywhere he’d expect from being a fuck-toy. Maybe it was still soon. Maybe the guy hadn’t gotten around to it yet. It didn’t make sense that he’d slip up and forget to drug his sex slave into submission before he’d even had time to fuck him, though.

 

 

_Oh, god._ Bart was dead. Christian pressed his palms into his eyes. _Wait._ Maybe he remembered something about the guy buying Bart for him; gifting Bart to Christian for being good or something?

 

 

That was probably a cruel, hopeful dream. Like the dream where he was at a slumber party with Bart and Claire, and Bart was so willing to cuddle with him, and Claire kept running his mouth at him all kinky and Christian didn’t kill him for it.

 

 

In any case, Christian needed to kill this motherfucker and get out of there before he realized he’d made a mistake with him. God he couldn’t wait to kill somebody. He was so fucking pissed right now.

 

 

“C-Christian?” Bart’s fingers danced against the doorframe nervously as he half-hid behind it. His shoulders rose when Christian’s alert and aggressive eyes locked onto him. “Do...do you need anything?” When the serial killer only glared at him with his mouth slightly open, Bart pointed to the side table. “I have you a drink there. It’s been a while. You should drink.”

 

 

Christian’s head whipped toward the table. “Where’d the blow come from?”

 

 

“Claire got it for you from a lady you introduced him to.”

 

 

“Claire? Bart. Come closer.” Christian moved to the edge of the bed and immediately snorted his fix.

 

 

Bart stepped into the room. He jolted when Christian made a satisfied whoop in response to the drugs. The sound wasn’t nearly as pleasant as usual. It was clear the criminal was in a violent mood. Bart swallowed heavily when Christian motioned for him to move forward.

 

 

“Closer. Closer, Bart. Here.” He pointed to the floor about a foot and a half away.  His left hand absently pinched the hem of Bart’s flannel pajama top as he focused on chugging the entire can of orange soda with his other hand. He growled with relief as he stopped to breath. Bart watched his throat move when he returned for the rest of the can. Christian belched shamelessly and sat the can down far too hard. “Where are we?”

 

 

“We’re at my house. I hid the car we stole in the garage.”

 

 

“You took your fucking kidnapper to your house?”

 

 

“I...I didn’t know where else to go. You weren’t all there, so I couldn’t find out what you wanted. I called Claire. He helped me get you in here and watch you while you were out.”

 

 

“Why am in these clothes?” He sniffed at his shirt.

 

 

“You vomited all over us all. We needed to clean you up.”

 

 

“You washed me? Like, in the shower?” Christian frowned deeper as a few memories crossed his mind that he’d assumed were more dreams. Something about Claire soaking wet and naked, and Bart’s careful fingers traveling over Claire’s skin, and then Claire’s mouth on his.

 

 

“Yes.” Bart pointed a shaky finger to the neat stack of clothes on the dresser. “I cleaned your clothes, when you want them. I didn’t want to bother you more than necessary to put them back on you. You were a little...difficult...to handle.” He cleared his throat as he tried to remain calm while so close to the criminal. The priest’s fingers were still hanging onto his shirt like he expected Bart to flee, and his entire body was tense like he was about to snap in a fit of rage. Bart didn’t know how to soothe him, but he desperately wanted to lift his mood, both for his own safety and because he cared for him. “You seemed comfortable enough in those, so-”

 

 

“Are we alone? Where’s Claire?”

 

 

“Yes. Claire went to do a broadcast, I think he said. He should be back soon, if you need something.”

 

 

“Where’s my gun?” Christian exhaled in agitation.

 

 

Bart sucked in a breath. “H-how are you feeling? Are...are you back to yourself? You see, it’s just-”

 

 

Christian’s voice dropped far lower in warning. “Where’s my gun? Bart.”

 

 

Bart gulped as he squeaked. “W-we still have it, and your money, too-”

 

 

“Gun.” Christian’s fingers gripped and twisted his shirt. “Now.”

 

 

“Okay. Christian. Are you going to-”

 

 

Christian’s patience snapped. He stood and clamped his hands around the artist. He was used to hostages struggling, fighting, biting, and trying to move away from him. Bart was always so different, and it often left the criminal dizzy the way the artist went so pliant to him when he manhandled him. Christian wanted to assume it was a feeling of futility on Bart’s part that there was nothing he could do to stop Christian from doing whatever he wanted with him, but instinct should have had even a cornered animal trying their best to fight their way out for survival. Even Christian’s most loathed and abused hostages had scratched and pried at him reflexively while in the middle of swearing they would do what he said.

 

 

Bart, however, had fallen back on the bed limp with his arms up in surrender as Christian straddled him, even when Christian’s hands went to his throat. The criminal was shaken out of gripping too harshly when Bart only whimpered and tilted his head back. The artist’s hands did reach for him when he forced himself to squeeze lightly, but it was only to gently pet at his hands and arms to try and placate him. It was as if Bart simply didn’t want him to be mad at him.

 

 

Trust. That’s what was happening. Bart had a buried sense of trust that Christian wouldn’t kill him. Christian released his throat, and Bart gasped in air. It wasn’t because Christian had cut off the air flow, but rather Bart had held his breath in suspense. The artist’s hands fell back out beside his head as his frightened, teary eyes searched the criminal pitifully.

 

 

“I p-put your g-gun in the f-front pocket of your b-bag.” Bart shuddered as Christian continued to glare at him intensely. “Your b-bag is n-next to the c-couch. In the living room-”

 

 

Christian gnashed his teeth. “When I ask you something, you answer me!”

 

 

Bart’s eyes widened further when Christian clenched his shirt with one hand and drew back a fist. The artist turned his face away with a small cry. Something in his overwhelmingly vulnerable tone caused the priest to freeze up. “Oh, Christian...don’t...” It was more than physical terror. That was the unmistakable sound of a man’s heart breaking.

 

 

Bart’s lungs hitched as he fought not to cry, but when several tears escaped him, the back of his hand drifted up to rest against his forehead, still palm-up towards Christian. The guy really was inefficient at guarding his face and vitals from harm. He didn’t have it in him to defend himself. He sniffled when Christian’s hand rested on his face and tilted it to look at him. The criminal’s thumb swiped along the tears, but Bart’s eyes didn’t brave to look at Christian’s face.

 

 

Christian huffed impatiently. “Stay right there. Don’t fucking move.” He climbed off him and left the room. Christian didn’t shut the bathroom door when he stopped off to take a piss, and the artist was almost impressed with how long the stream continued as Christian cursed in relief. Bart was still where he’d left him when Christian returned holding his gun and clutching his bag. He dropped the bag next to the bed and rattled the gun at his side as he thought.

 

 

Bart’s voice was meek. “The neighbors, Christian, might h-hear a gunshot.”

 

 

“Is that a threat?” Christian grumbled as he moved to shut the blinds and then pulled the thick, though cheap, curtains together. “Thank fucking god.” Christian palmed at his sore eyes when he finally got a reprieve from the light. The muted television still projected a dull static illumination in the dark room.

 

 

“N-no. Of course, it isn’t, Christian. You’re my friend. I clearly don’t want you to be discovered.”  

 

 

“Friend.” Christian said it like a curse. “Head on the pillows, Bart. Center of the bed. We’re going to have a little talk.”

 

 

Christian sat on him again, and since Christian had the gun this time, Bart found the courage to drape his arms over his face to block his view of the criminal.

 

 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

 

 

Bart shivered. “You’re scaring me.”

 

 

“Not right now, idiot. What is fucking wrong with you all together to keep calling us friends? I’m a mass murderer, a thief, I scam people. I kidnapped you. You’re a fucking hostage. You could’ve ditched me, or turned me in, but you brought me to your fucking home instead. What’s your game?”

 

 

Bart stammered. “I...I don’t know, Christian. I just like you.” The artist gasped when Christian cocked the gun.

 

 

“Try again.”

 

 

“I d-don’t know h-how to explain it, Christian-OH GOD PLEASE!” Bart turned his face away when Christian pointed the gun just to the right of his head. “Okay! I’m s-scared of everything, Christian. The world is a horrible place, and I’m so lonely. So fucking lonely. And people, Christian, they’re so mean, and they’re fake. Everyone is either cruel or they’re fake-nice, which is worse. They pretend they can tolerate me. They pretend, and really there’s nothing there behind fucking empty eyes, Christian.”

 

 

Christian narrowed his eyes and pointed the gun to the ceiling. Bart was still clenching his eyes shut in fear and humiliation as he was forced to confess his feelings.

 

 

“But you...you’re shameless. You’re a criminal. You don’t have to pretend anything for society’s sake. What you do and say is how you really are. You might be horribly mean to me, but for every second you don’t kill me, there’s just something in that, because if you wanted me to hurt, or you wanted me to die, you would see that happen to me. There’s no reason for you to pretend. You’re real, Christian, and there’s something so beautiful about that.”

 

 

Christian blinked in shock. _Beautiful? Real? The fuck?_

 

 

“I would so much rather be around someone who’s not holding up a curtain to their sincere thoughts and intentions. As your hostage, you own me. You control me. There’s no reason for you to manipulate me when you can simply command me and you see I’ll listen. I want to know what I mean to people and not what they feel obligated to portray. You’re real, and raw, and that’s just so pure, Christian. In all honesty, you’re the closest thing I have to a true friend.”

 

 

Bart hissed in suspense when Christian leaned toward him. The artist became aware of the taste of orange soda long before his brain caught up to the fact that the intrusion in his mouth was from the criminal kissing him. Bart was still in shock when Christian sat back and pulled his shirt over his head with a quick motion that seemed he was irritated with the fabric. He leaned back in and aggressively ripped Bart’s shirt all the way open. The artist yelped as buttons when flying. Christian’s mouth latched onto his collarbone as he rolled his hips against him.

 

 

Bart’s eyes rolled back and his fingers clenched onto the pillow. He arched up as Christian’s warm mouth worked down towards his nipple. His hands dropped to Christian’s shoulders, and he moaned at the combination of feeling the priest’s bare skin on his fingertips and his tongue circling around his nipple. “C-Christian...I’ve never-”

 

 

“Well, you’re about to.” Christian clasped Bart’s wrists and pinned them back beside his head. Bart whined when he felt the metal of the gun handle against his arm as Christian juggled both. The priest kissed him again as he straightened his legs and forced himself between Bart’s thighs.

 

 

The artist was clearly struggling with his trepidation as his entire body tensed, but he inevitably forced himself to relax to Christian’s intentions. He released a shaky breath, tilted his head back, and let his legs fall open to him.

 

 

Christian groaned into his neck as he felt him make the decision to willingly submit to him like he always did. “There you go, sweetheart.” He released his arms as he bit a little too hard into the bend of the artist’s neck. One of Bart’s hands hesitantly slid behind Christian’s head to press him closer like he wanted him there, and then the artist pulsed up against the friction Christian was causing between their legs.

 

 

Christian quickly lost what little resolve he had to go slow with the encounter. The priest sat back and yanked Bart’s pants away before tearing off his own. He spit in his hand, reached down to slick himself up, and kicked Bart’s thighs further open. He fell back over him like he didn’t mean to prepare him at all.

 

 

Bart was trying to be grateful that he’d at least thought to use some kind of lube, but he imagined it would be highly ineffective in his frightened state. He sucked in a breath, grabbed onto Christian’s shoulders for support, and clenched his eyes shut in the same way he reacted when he thought Christian was going to hit him.

 

 

Christian growled in frustration when he found himself freezing up in response to his hostage’s distress. The longer he stayed poised over him, the harder Bart trembled. A small whimper escaped the artist as he snaked his arms around Christian’s shoulders to cling to him. His tears finally began to flow when Christian sighed impatiently and shoved his arms away. The priest sat back on his heels and rubbed his hands over his face. They both stiffened as the front door opened.

 

 

“Hey, Bart! Where are you?” Claire was carrying some kind of plastic bag that was crinkling noisily as he shut the door.

 

 

Christian grabbed for his gun and tugged the blankets around their lower halves. “Am I gonna have to kill your little boyfriend? Is he gonna flip out at seeing this?”

 

 

“No! Christian, he’s more your friend than mine, even. He always has your back.” Bart began to panic when Christian released and returned the safety on the gun repeatedly as he stared toward the bedroom doorway. “Don’t hurt him, Christian! Please!” Bart worked his hand beneath the sheets and feathered his fingers against Christian’s cock.

 

 

Christian’s air escaped him in one quick huff. He looked back to Bart, and his eyes rolled for half a second before he slapped Bart’s hand away and turned back to the door in time to watch Claire enter the room. Bart looked away. He was both embarrassed to be found in such a position and afraid he was about to see Claire die.

 

 

“Wow!” Claire laughed nervously, but he didn’t seem shocked to find them this way. He closed the door as if the three of them needed privacy in Bart’s own house, and he dug in the bag distractedly. “Kinda figured that’s where this was all going. That’s why I got this.”

 

 

Christian frowned incredulously as he squinted in the dim light of the static. “Toothpaste?”

 

 

“Oh! Not that. This!” Claire held up the lubrication. His eyes didn’t even land on the gun Christian was holding. It was like there was no threat in his mind at all. It seemed to work to make Christian think there was no reason for him to be a threat. The serial killer slowly sat his gun on the side table even though he narrowed his eyes at Claire. He held out a hand, and when Claire got close enough, he snatched the lube from him. Claire smiled and kicked his shoes off before climbing onto the bed.

 

 

Christian watched him with an incredulous wide-eyed frown. “Who the fuck invited you to this?”

 

 

“Chill out, kitten. Master does what he wants.” Claire stroked Bart’s face to investigate if he was alright as Christian made a strangled noise of confusion.

 

 

“What...what...just what...” Christian frowned harder as he tried to comprehend what in the actual fuck could have made Claire brave talking to him like that and just why he wasn’t shooting him in the face for it. He was distracted from his chaotic reflections when Claire pressed his lips to Bart’s, and the artist wriggled his hips against Christian as he moaned into the comforting kiss.

 

 

Claire watched him from the corner of his eye as he cupped Bart’s face and deepened the kiss. Christian was slathering lube onto himself. “Him first. Work him open. Make him relax.” Christian scowled at him before slowly moving his cock to prod against the artist defiantly. Bart opened his legs further and the criminal shuddered with the effort of stopping himself when Claire turned to look at him with a darker expression than he’d thought him capable of. “Don’t piss master off, kitten.”

 

 

When the priest sat back again with a sigh, Bart exhaled in relief and sank down against the mattress. Christian hadn’t noticed how tense the artist had been until the stress was melting away. He didn’t want Bart to hate this.

 

 

Claire’s hand slid down to touch the artist’s cock and Bart writhed in response. Christian didn’t realize how much he wanted the artist to enjoy himself as well, but he started to come to terms with it when his heart began to hammer painfully hard against his ribs as he watched them. The artist was beautiful when he was getting lost in pleasure, and Christian took a moment to simply appreciate him. He wanted him so badly, but if he could pace himself, there was so much more he could get out of the encounter.

 

 

Christian’s eyes shifted back to Claire. The man was too clever for his own good, but he did keep getting them out of dire situations with his quick thinking. The criminal wasn’t so sure he liked it when Christian was the one being studied and manipulated so thoroughly by that busy brain of his.

 

 

Claire dragged his tongue across Bart’s chest, and he glanced up to Christian a little too knowingly when the artist mewled and arched up to him. “See how pretty he is when he’s enjoying himself, kitten?” He dipped his face into Bart’s neck causing him to shiver as he dropped his head to the side to give him better access.

 

 

“You know what. Fine.” Christian grumbled. “Get some pillows under his hips. Get him up here.” When Bart hesitated insecurely, Christian hooked his hands under Bart’s hips and lifted as Claire put the pillows in place. Bart’s arms fell to cover his face as he was put on display even though the darkness of the room was a small comfort.

 

 

Bart gasped when Christian immediately worked a finger inside him. His body clenched around him before Bart closed his eyes and focused to relax. The artist’s hand reached out for something to cling to for support, and Claire was there, scooting closer and whispering erotic encouragements in his ear. Claire’s hand returned to Bart’s length as Christian narrowed his eyes wondering what he was saying to him to make the artist’s lips part so wantonly. Christian wanted to be the one making him lose himself to pleasure. He twisted his finger to stroke against his prostate.

 

 

“Christian!” Bart’s mouth fell open as his hips thrust up. Christian didn’t let up, and Claire moved his hand away with more confidence that he was enjoying himself. “Oh, god...” The artist whimpered when Christian added another finger, but then Christian wrapped his other hand around Bart’s cock to distract him as he angled the same inside him.

 

 

Claire seemed content enough to watch them with his head propped on one hand while he leisurely tickled his fingers along Bart’s body to remind him he was there and Christian wasn’t likely to brutalize him. Christian withdrew his fingers and moved again as if to take him.

 

 

“Let him do it.”

 

 

“Fuck you.” Christian began to press into him.

 

 

“Did you just run your mouth at me?” Holy shit Claire could sound wicked. He didn’t move to try and stop the criminal, and his confidence that Christian would do what he was told was disheartening to the priest. Claire didn’t seem surprised when Christian gnashed his teeth and froze in place. “There you go, kitten.” Claire glanced to Bart who was staring at the ceiling with wide eyes because he’d tensed up again. The artist shivered and sucked in a breath when Christian pulled out of him.

 

 

Christian frowned. “You know the last guy to call me that is dead.”

 

 

“I’m sorry.” Claire raised his eyebrows sympathetically.

 

 

“No.” Christian rolled his eyes impatiently. “I killed him.”

 

 

Claire hummed as if he wasn’t fazed. When Christian moved like he was going to push forward, Claire’s voice dropped again. “Let him do it.”

 

 

“He’s not going to do it. He’s too scared.”

 

 

“Maybe if you beg him really nice, he’ll take pity on you.” Claire was serious, and Christian started to speak several times as their eyes remained locked.

 

 

The criminal had almost settled on which threat to lash Claire with when Bart pressed down over the head of his cock. Christian’s lids slammed closed and he groaned as he started to push deeper on reflex.

 

 

“Stop.”

 

 

Christian’s fingers dug painfully into Bart’s hips as, for some unknown fucking reason, he kept doing what Claire told him. He growled in frustration before pumping forward a few inches. Bart’s muscles locked up again, and Claire clucked his tongue at the criminal.

 

 

“Better be still or I’ll hold those hips for you.”

 

 

Christian was trembling with the effort. “Fucking do it then, motherfucker. See what hap-” He wrenched his eyes open when the bed moved violently. Claire wasn’t on his side next to Bart anymore. Christian barely had time to look over his shoulder before he was shoved forward and caught himself on his arms over Bart’s body. He meant to reach for his gun, but then he was caught in Bart’s lust-clouded eyes only inches away from his own. The artist’s careful hands framed his face and pulled him into a kiss that had him missing the sounds of the lubrication bottle and the noises of Claire unfastening his pants.

 

 

Bart moaned into the kiss, and Christian’s hips twitched forward. Bart sucked in a breath pulling some of the air out of Christian’s lungs, but then Claire’s hands clamped onto his hips to hold him in place.

 

 

“Be a good boy if you want my prick so bad.”

 

 

_Wait._ When had Christian said he wanted Claire to do that? But fuck he so fucking wanted him to do that. The criminal swallowed heavily, but he chose to keep kissing the artist to keep Bart from looking right into his face when he was assumingly about to take a cock in his ass. Christian grunted when Claire began to sweetly stretch him as if rewarding him for doing so to the man beneath him. Christian was suddenly glad he’d listened to him.

 

 

The criminal pulled away from Bart’s mouth with a frown of confusion. Why was he still listening to him again, though? Why was he allowing any of this? He locked his jaw and drew a whimper from the artist when he focused back down on him. The expression quickly washed into confusion when he felt Claire’s hand slam against his ass to punish him for whatever he’d done to make Bart distressed. He moved to look over his shoulder, incidentally pressing himself deeper into the artist. Bart whined in discomfort and clawed at Christian’s back, which in turn caused Claire to heartlessly cram his cock deep into the criminal’s body.

 

 

“F-f-fuck!” Christian’s mouth fell open and his hands clenched against Bart’s arms. He tried to move away from the intrusion, but Claire yanked him back against him firmly and shoved himself deeper. Christian exhaled breathlessly and dropped his face into Bart’s chest.

 

 

“Your dick doesn’t get any attention unless Bart gives it to you. Right?” Claire pulled out and slammed back into him to drive in his point. “Right?”

 

 

“Fuck, right! Right! Jesus!” Christian groaned in a combination of pain and arousal when Claire moved more slowly. “Fuuuck...” He had somehow managed to get himself all the way inside Bart by that point, but he was stuck motionless as Claire began to pump into him far too gently while brushing up against his prostate with only the most maddeningly random strokes. Bart was getting more friction than he was as the artist’s length rubbed against Christian’s body.

 

 

“Bart!” Christian demanded impatiently, but then he yelped when Claire smacked him again.

 

 

“You talk to master nicer than that if you want something from him, kitten.”

 

 

Bart blushed at the absurdity of Claire bringing him into the whole sex slave ploy, but then Christian was begging him.

 

 

“Bart, please.” Christian was panting desperately against Bart’s shoulder as Claire teased him cruelly, pushing him so close but just not enough. The artist felt so warm and tight around his cock, and the pressure was mind-blowing. His tortured cock barely moved, and he was so close to feeling what he needed. “Bart. Baby. Sweetheart. Pleeease.” He groaned helplessly as he was so gently worked from the inside and outside. “God please, Bart. Move.”

 

 

Christian whined as he felt moisture across his cheek as his face slid against Bart’s skin, and he realized he’d been drooling all over the artist. It felt so unbelievably good as the two warm bodies worked him, but he was trapped in place unable to tumble over the edge. His voice broke. “Master, please...” His pleading ended with a long slew of unintelligible grunts and whines as Claire began to pound into him more steadily.

 

 

Christian laughed weakly, almost psychotically, as Claire’s movements became more desperate. Claire’s hands were still clinging to Christian’s hips, but his thrusting was beginning to cause the priest to pump into the body beneath him.

 

 

Christian whimpered when Bart’s hand worked between them to stroke himself. The artist was so close to release that his body clenched up as soon as his fingers curled around himself. Christian choked with need and pleaded with him again, but then he jolted when the artist wriggled against him experimentally.

 

 

Christian’s arms were quaking as he lifted himself up enough to give Bart more room to touch himself. It was making the artist move and Christian would have done anything to encourage him to keep it up. “Fuck, baby. Like that.” He wanted to watch the artist, but he couldn’t see straight as he was overwhelmed with the duel sensations now working on either side of him.

 

 

Bart writhed down against him. “Oh, god! I’m going to come! Christian...” He began a steady chant of Christian’s name as his body started to arch up tight.

 

 

Claire’s breath stuttered as he moaned. “Okay, kitten. Now you can. Fuck him. F-fuck him...”

 

 

Christian’s hips barely moved as he pulsed forward and then pressed back chaotically as he tried to remember how to make his body work. It was difficult to set a rhythm when Claire was still hanging onto his hips and driving into him to get himself off, but the conspiracy theorist was pushing into him deeper and hitting the right place inside him at a steady rate. Bart cried out with his release, and Christian found he didn’t really have to move to get stimulation now as the artist bucked and clenched violently around him.

 

 

It was more than enough to overwhelm the criminal. “Holy fucking god!” Christian’s climax slammed through him just as Claire cursed and shoved himself deep. When Christian begged him to keep moving, Claire groaned and obliged him for the few moments it took to tear the priest’s release from him. “Ohgodohgod don’t fucking stop master please fucking please don’t stop! Fuck I’m gonna come fuck I’m coming fuuuck!”

 

 

It seemed the entire world moved around him as Christian remained anchored in place while complete euphoria rushed throughout his whole body. His brain was fuzzy as his vision blacked out. He wasn’t aware his mouth was searching for something to latch onto or that he was sucking a hickey into Bart’s shoulder in between releasing a muffled cry against his skin. His feet tingled all the way up to the back of his thighs where Claire was raking his short nails up his leg like he was fucking petting him for being good. His heart thrummed loud in his eardrums and seemed to line up with the pulse of his cock as he emptied himself into Bart’s body while simultaneously milking Claire dry behind him.

 

 

Bart wrapped his arms around him as Christian collapsed onto him in a whimpering mess of tears and saliva. Christian tucked his arms beneath him and pulled him close enough to push Bart’s air from his lungs. The priest was mumbling a combination of ‘fuck’ and ‘thank you’ as he fought for air.

 

 

Christian grunted, and a few seconds later Claire bounced into place next to them. The priest clawed at the pillows beneath Bart, and Claire helped to pull them away. Bart sank down to the mattress, but Christian pushed himself firmly to stay inside him.

 

 

“Fuck.” Christian wheezed. “Fuck. Oh, god. I’ve never come so hard or long in my fucking life. You two are some dirty motherfuckers.” He dragged himself up to kiss the man in his arms possessively. Then he rested their foreheads together and adored the way Bart’s fingers pressed nervous circles against his back. “But, Claire. You fucking bastard. I’m going to shoot you in the fucking face.”

 

 

Claire wasn’t as concerned about that as Bart was when the priest rolled to the side, because he noticed that Christian was moving between the two of them rather than to the other side of Bart where he could reach his gun. Christian pulled Bart against him when the artist started pleading with him not kill Claire. Claire turned toward them, scooted up flush against Christian’s back, and draped his arm over his waist. Bart relaxed when Christian weaved his fingers into Claire’s and pulled his arm to wrap around Bart’s body with his.

 

 

“Shoot me in the face?” Claire hummed. “I only do one money shot a day, and Bart already did that last night.” Christian snorted in disbelief.

 

 

Bart gasped. “That was an accident!”

 

 

“Wait. He’s serious?” Christian frowned as he tried to imagine what could have possibly led the artist into such a position. “How do you accidentally splooge on a guy’s face?” He was teasing Bart now, because he could assume what had probably happened.

 

 

“I d-didn’t do it on purpose! He was talking about a conspiracy-”

 

 

“Yeah, well I think about nutting on his face when he goes on about random bullshit, but I don’t do it. It’s not polite to just whip out your dick and start polishing one off while someone’s talking, Bart.”

 

 

“Th-that’s not how it happened! I would never!” Bart stammered and sputtered.

 

 

“Well, I assume he didn’t see it coming. What, did you hide in the goddamn shadows or something and then leap out at the last minute? Jesus, Bart. You’re twisted.”

 

 

“I DID NOT LEAP OUT OF THE SHADOWS AND...and...do that! It was an accident-”

 

 

“Yeah. An accident of Claire not watching his back.”

 

 

Claire couldn’t clutch at the catch in his side as he laughed hard since Christian refused to release his hand. “Bart, he can put it together. He’s just messing with you. Look, kitten. Bart was pent up really bad since someone kept trying to rape him while they were drugged, and someone else had to keep distracting said person from manhandling him. Bart was stuck watching us get off repeatedly, and so after you finally crashed for a few minutes, I just helped him out, is all.”

 

 

“What the fuck? I did fucking what now? We did what?” Christian growled, but he didn’t seem as upset as expected over the information. “Did you fuck me?”

 

 

“No, but it wasn’t for lack of you trying.”

 

 

“Hey!” Christian’s fingers feathered against Bart’s hair when the artist tensed.

 

 

Claire continued. “You seemed really concerned about Bart. You kept asking about him and kept trying to fuck me to buy his safety or some shit. It was sweet, really. I honestly didn’t know what to do, though, Christian.” He laughed helplessly. “You’re pretty fucking strong and insistent. I worked with what I could, and you responded well enough to that whole kitten/master thing. I wasn’t just being a dick.”

 

 

“Ah.” Christian nodded against the top of Bart’s head before absently pressing a kiss there. “I guess that explains some shit.” He tightened his hold on the artist, and Bart mewled as he swooned with the affection.

 

 

They were quiet for a time as their hearts and breathing finally slowed to a relaxed state. Claire was the next to break the silence. “I want pizza. Not pineapple, though.”

 

 

“Fine. Whatever. We have to watch Bart around the delivery guy, though. He might get worked up and leap out from the shadows at him.”

 

 

Christian finally made the unfamiliar noise of a sincere chuckle when Bart responded so genuinely shocked while defending himself as if the other two might really be concerned about his self-control. His tearful rant ended with accusing Christian of planning to kill the delivery guy.

 

 

“Oh, come on. I’m not that stupid. They’d have the address and track him to the last place he was supposed to be. You know what? Claire can fucking answer the door, then. That better? There, Claire. You know I won’t kill you because we have to keep you around to pay the goddamn delivery guy.”

 

 

“It’s good to be needed, kitten.”

 


End file.
